


Gratitude

by DictionaryWrites



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Put a pairing (or OT3) and an emotion in my ask and I’ll write you a ficlet for those concepts; I had 00Q and gratitude.</p><p>Bond rescues Q when he's made use of as bait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

Q’s breathing is ragged as Bond grasps him tightly, one arm wrapped around the smaller man’s waist and the other at his back, right hand tightly fisted in the fabric of his shirt and his cardigan as the elevator begins to go down.

His eyes are closed, and Bond can tell by his face and shaking shoulders; his hands are fisted tightly in Bond’s shirt as if he’s terrified the agent will disappear.

"Thank you." Q gasps out. All his usual well-pressed dignity and sardonics are forgotten as he trembles and holds tightly to him, and Bond makes no complaint, doesn’t tease.

The teasing will come later, when he’s reasonably certain Q isn’t going to have another panic attack.

”Thank you.” Q says again in a harsh and tortured voice, and Bond leans, dragging his lips over the younger man’s temple. The lift is taking ages to descend: Q had been bound at the wrists and ankles, suspended from the side of the roof. “Thank you, Christ, shit, James, I-“

"Shush now." Bond murmurs, and he presses his lips to the upper part of his cheek, gentle.

The woman’s death had been gorier than his usual kills, perhaps due to her decision to use the quartermaster as bait. It hadn’t been based on their relationship outside of work: she’d picked an accessible MI6 employee and she’d taken him.

It had just been luck that she picked the one with the phobia of heights.

Q’s grip on Bond loosens a little when the lift stops short on the skyscraper’s first floor, but he remains pressed chest to chest with him.

His cheeks are flushed, and now he leans back slightly, obviously embarrassed at having lost himself so thoroughly. He feels Q’s fingers twitch; he wants to draw back and make himself dignified as he can before they walk out through the lobby, but he can’t quite bring himself to pull his hands away.

Bond reaches out, pressing the close button before the doors can open. “MI6, a half hour debriefing, and then home.” Bond says crisply, but quietly. “Can you do it?”

"Of course I can do it, 007. Don’t be obscene." Q draws back, adjusting his tie and smoothing out his shirt. He presses his lips together, and pulls himself together to.

Bond wonders how long he’ll cry for once Bond is asleep later tonight.

"You can’t see a thing, can you?" Bond asks, thinking of how Q’s specs had slipped and fell all the way to the ground below.

"Everything’s a blur." Q agrees, and when Bond chuckles Q begins to laugh, the tension easing out of his stiff shoulders and his body. It takes him a little while to catch his breath, and then he punches the button to open his door. "I suppose I’ll have to reward you for rescuing a damsel in distress."

"A damsel?" Bond repeats. "You? Psh. You’re a dragon." Q smirks at him, stepping out into the lobby.

"Shan’t argue with that."


End file.
